


The Golden Rule

by chaletian



Series: the hypothetical adventures of Dean and Jo [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, basically now an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaletian/pseuds/chaletian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't go looking for trouble: that is their golden rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Rule

Once, when Dean and Jo were barely settled into Bobby’s house, they had talked. Late in the night, with the steady beat of rain against the newly shingled roof, they had lain in each other’s arms, under a quilt Bobby’s mother had made, and talked about the future. _Their_ future.  
  
“Can we really do it?” Jo had asked. “Just walk away?”  
  
“That was the deal,” Dean had said, his arm around her, fingers playing with her hair in the darkness.  
  
“Hate to break it to you, honey, but deals never quite work out the way you expect.” Her tone had been tart, and Dean had grinned and tugged her hair.  
  
“I trust Cas,” he had said, and that had been that. But they’d both known, even then, that once you knew what was out there, it was impossible to pretend you didn’t. They chose not to hunt. They lived in Bobby’s house and made it their home. Dean worked at rebuilding the porch, and replastering the walls, and making a new kitchen table to replace the one busted up when a nameless demon had attacked Bobby one time. Jo salvaged crockery that was still decent and set up new utilities accounts and made forays into the nearby town – small and blonde, they both figured she was a better introduction to the new owners of the Singer place than Dean, who still wore his invisible armour of mistrust and wariness. But the darkness has a habit of being there whether you want anything to do with it or not.  
  
 _“We didn’t want this,” said Dean, the first time they killed a werewolf who’d expanded his territory to include the town that had, somehow, become theirs as well. “I told you we didn’t have to do this.”  
  
And Jo had raised one muddy hand to touch his face briefly. “That’s kinda the thing, isn’t it? It’s not really what we do. It’s more what we are.”_  
  
They get drawn in to one hunt after another. Sometimes they just offer advice on the phone. Sometimes, if it’s local, they do the job themselves. Every time, Dean tells Jo they don’t have to, which is sweet, she always thinks, but a lie, because, knowing what they know, how can they not?  
  
They don’t go looking for trouble, though. That’s their golden rule. This is their life: the house, the town, the business that’s actually a business and not just a cover, the friends who maybe guess something of what Dean and Jo can do. They don’t go looking for trouble.  
  
Then Sam comes to visit.  
  
They both hate Sam’s visits as much as they love them. Because Sam is alive and well, but he’s ten kinds of crazy and can’t rest. Each time, Jo sees Sam break Dean’s heart a little, and each time she sees Dean itch to protect his brother any way possible.  
  
“It’s huge,” Sam says, hair dishevelled, layer upon layer of loose clothing flapping in his agitation. “It’s the demon _motherlode_ , Dean!” He starts talking in Latin, and Dean and Jo share a worried look, because they’re both pretty sure that Sam was never that fluent, and they have no idea what’s influencing him.  
  
“Tell us about it,” Dean says, but Sam can’t or won’t, and Jo wonders why he came.  
  
“Come with me,” Sam says. He looks at Dean, not Jo (never at Jo), and says it again. “Come with me.”

oOo

Jo’s lying on their bed, on top of the quilt that Bobby’s mother made. She’s pregnant, and in the privacy of their room, her belly is bare. She puts one hand over it and waits for baby to kick. The door opens and Dean slides in, closing the door behind him. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, arms and feet bare. His hair is longer than it used to be, and working out in the junkyard has lightened it in the same way that his skin has darkened. His face is older, though.  
  
“Sam’s asleep,” he says roughly. “More or less.”  
  
“It’s late,” says Jo, adding inconsequentially, “do you think I should cut my hair? I mean, it was pretty stupid, I guess, leaving it long while I was, y’know, hunting, but I just wanted to show I was still a woman or something. I dunno. Do you think I should cut it?”  
  
Dean sits down next to her, the weight of him making the bed dip so that she rolled closer to him. He reaches out and strokes her hair. “Nah, it’s hot,” he says. “I’m not gonna go, Jo.”  
  
“I’m not asking you to choose, asshole,” she says, rolling her eyes. “If you want to go, I’m cool with it, as long as you come back.”  
  
He’s silent for a moment, still stroking her hair, then he swings round so he’s lying next to her. “You’re totally not cool with it,” he says.  
  
“I trust you,” says Jo, feeling the baby move inside her, and it’s true, she does trust him. “You know what you’re doing.”  
  
“You’re keen for me to go,” says Dean suspiciously. “Tell the truth, Jo. You’re screwing round with Joe, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Hot, wet monkey sex with the grandpa. What can I say? It’s a weakness. I’m hoping a vengeful spirit will kick your ass, and I can settle down with Joe.”  
  
“Annie might have a thing or two to say about that,” Dean points out, and Jo snaps her fingers in irritation.  
  
“Darn. Guess you might as well come back then.”  
  
They lay in silence. It’s dark now, a newly risen moon gleaming faintly through the window. It starts to rain, and they hear it, beating on seasoned shingles.  
  
“We always said we wouldn’t go looking for trouble,” says Dean eventually. “We swore. _I_ swore.” Jo doesn’t say anything. Dean says, “He’s my brother.”  
  
Jo leans over and kisses him. “I know. Go with him, Dean.”

oOo

Five days after they leave, the Winchester brothers come back. Jo sees them from the window, but doesn’t rush out, doesn’t want Dean to see she’s worried. So she saunters out onto the porch, and leans against the post, arms crossed.  
  
“So much with giving me time for my tryst with Joe,” she calls out, and Dean grins. He’s whole and seemingly healthy, apart from a bruise high on his cheek, but Jo doesn’t like to see him in his dad’s old jacket, with familiar layers of flannel shirt.  
  
“You’re just shit out of luck,” he calls back, pulling his bag out of the trunk. “Saw Joe n’ Annie in town, looking pretty loved up.”  
  
“Bastard,” says Jo. “Can’t trust anyone these days.” Dean leaps up the steps, and kisses her, and just for a moment, Jo forgets the last five days, even though she’s seen a darkness in Dean’s eyes she hasn’t seen for a while.  
  
“You get it?” she asks, and Dean nods. Sam comes up behind him (not looking at Jo), and she says, “Dinner’ll be ready soon. Go wash up.”  
  
Dean heads into the house, but Sam pauses and, to Jo’s surprise, he grabs her arm, looks her straight in the eye and there, for a moment, he’s the Sam she used to know.  
  
“Don’t let him come with me again,” he says intently. “Don’t let him, Jo.”

oOo

Their son is three months old when Sam comes again and asks, again, for Dean to come with him.  
  
Jo’s lying on their bed when Dean comes in.  
  
“He’s found some kind of nest,” he says. “Wants me to go with him.”  
  
“Don’t,” says Jo, and is almost shocked when Dean looks down on her with such fondness evident in his face.  
  
“I’m not,” he says.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I promised,” he says, “we don’t go looking for trouble.”  
  
“That _is_ the rule,” agrees Jo.  
  
“However,” he continues, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should make a website. Y’know. How to deal with ghosts and demons, all that supernatural crap.”  
  
“A website.”  
  
“Yeah.” Dean’s obviously been thinking about this for a while, and his voice is enthusiastic. “Like, advice on what to do, and, whaddya call them?, links to the kinds of sites we do research on. Helping people.”  
  
“Huh,” says Jo. “Cool.”  
  
“Plus, I was thinking if we had some nudey shots of you being a helpless victim, we’d get a shitload of hits.”  
  
“Fuck off, Winchester,” says Jo.  
  
“Aw, baby,” says Dean, “you’d look awesome.”  
  
Jo raises herself up on her elbows. “Dean, honey? You know that rule about not looking for trouble? Well, I just wanna take this chance to say _this totally counts_.”  
  
“Is it so wrong to ask your wife to do a few porno shots for your website?” demands Dean.  
  
Jo freezes. “Not your wife, Winchester,” she says after a moment.  
  
Dean snaps his fingers. “Right! I knew there was something I had to ask you first.”  
  
“Oh, you’re a prize,” says Jo, rolling her eyes, and she can _hear_ his grin.  
  
“You know it, baby. You know it.”


End file.
